Flesh And Blood

Seeing you. Or like when you think about someone and then they keep turning up – you know?”

I grinned. The sunshades said I was doing okay. “Karma sounds fine to me. Care for some coffee?”

“No, thanks-” The dark lenses moved from side to side, taking in the parking lot. Her bare arms were smooth and lightly freckled. No bra under the tank top. Those nipples again. “Sure, why not. I’ll go get some.”

“Let me.” I stood and handed her the puzzle. “See what you can do with this in the meantime. Cream and sugar?”

“A little milk and some artificial sweetener.”

As I turned she took hold of my arm. Leaning forward and giving me a view of fat, white breast tops.

Her finger made a tiny circle on my elbow.

“Also decaf,” she said.

When I returned she was hunched over the paper, white-knuckling the pen, tongue tip protruding between her lips. Her hair was down, and it looked freshly combed.

“I think I got a couple of them,” she said. “‘Lynx’ for ‘wild cat,’ right? And ‘Burnett’ for ‘comedienne Carol.’ But not that pony one – maybe ‘cochise’? Isn’t that Indian or something?”

“Hmm,” I said, handing her the coffee. “No, I don’t think that’s it. This connecting one’s ‘mayfly,’ so there has to be a y in there.”

“Oh, right… sorry.”

I sat down, picked up my cup. She did the same.

“Mmm, good,” she said, sipping. “People who do these things – puzzles. I always think it’s amazing. I’ve got street smarts, but I never really cared much for school.”

“Which streets?” I said.

“Phoenix, Arizona.”

“Hot.”

“Like an oven. Sucked. I left there when I was seventeen – dropped out before graduation, fibbed about my age, and got a job in Las Vegas Rollerblading in Magic Wheels.”

“The skating show,” I guessed.

“Yeah, you know it? I used to be a great skater – skated since I could walk.”

“Magic Wheels,” I said. “That went on for a while, didn’t it?”

“Years. But I was only in it for six months, sprained my ankle and it healed okay but not good enough for serious skating. Then I got a place in the line at Follies du Monde.”

Off came the sunglasses. Her eyes looked serene. Talking about herself had relaxed her. I sat back and crossed my legs, looked at the three diamond rings on her right hand, the three-carat ruby on her left.

“A showgirl,” I said.

“Well, it really wasn’t all that – just your basic dancing and kicking,” she said. “First thing they did was change my name. The producers. They said I was gonna be a headliner, needed a new name.”

“What’s wrong with Cheryl?”

“Cheryl Soames,” she said. “It’s not exactly Parisian.”

“So what’d they come up with?”

“Sylvana Spring.” She stared at me, waiting. “It was like a big meeting between me and the choreographer. We came up with it together.”

“Sylvana. Pretty.”

“I thought so – it means the woods, so like, let’s take a walk in the woods. And Spring because what’s the best time to walk in the woods – the spring. I thought it was kind of fresh and poetic. Anyway, I danced my tush off for a year but they never made me a headliner but I kept the name.”

“Another injury.”

“No.” She frowned and put the sunglasses back on. “It’s all politics. Who does what to who.”

“So how’d you end up in Malibu?”

“That is a long, long story.” She tapped the newspaper, looked away. “Would you mind if I break off a tiny bit of your bagel? I haven’t eaten all day – watching the carbs, but I am kinda droopy.”

“Take all of it.”

“No, no, just a nibble.”

“Don’t tell me you’re on a diet.”

“No,” she said. “I just watch. Because – I mean, how long do you have what you have?”

She broke off a crumb, chewed, swallowed, took a bigger bite, ended up finishing half of the bagel.

“Kids napping?” I said.

“Yup. Finally – it’s hell getting them tired enough to nap. That’s why we were down on the beach. What a day – So anyway, I figured why not use the time to look after little old me?”

“Makes sense,” I said. “I want to be honest with you, Cheryl. Your brother-in-law told me who owns the property.”

“My brother-in-law?”

“Kent Irving. He said he was Baxter’s and Sage’s uncle, which would make him your brother-in-law, right? He gave me his card with Duke Enterprises on it. I didn’t realize I was on famous ground.”

She frowned. “He’s not their uncle. He just likes to say that because it’s… simpler to explain.”

“What do you mean?”

“His wife – Anita – she’s actually their sister – Baxter’s and Sage’s. Their half sister. Not their aunt. That makes her my stepdaughter, so I guess Kent’s my stepson-in-law.” She giggled. “Pretty weird, huh?”

“It is a little complicated.”

“She’s a lot older than me and I’m her mom – Don’t laugh, okay? If I start laughing this coffee’s gonna go right up my nose.” Tipping down the sunglasses, she flashed green-blue innocence. “It is complicated. Sometimes I can’t believe I’m in the middle of it.”

“Hey,” I said. “Blended families. Happens all the time.”

“I guess.”

“So Kent’s their brother-in-law,” I said. “And he works for… He is your husband, right? You’re married to the famous Tony Duke.”

“Not anymore.” She looked into one of the shopping bags. Pulled out a red string bikini and held it up. “What do you think?”

“The little I can see is nice.”

“Oh, you,” she said. “Men – they just can’t visualize.”

“Okay,” I said, closing my eyes. “I’m visualizing… The little I can see is terrific.”

She laughed and dropped the swimsuit back in the bag. “Men think naked is the best, but let me tell you, a little bit of cloth’s a whole lot sexier.” Her hand lowered toward her coffee cup, digressed, and brushed against my knuckles.

“So you’re the ex-Mrs. Duke.”

She slapped my wrist, lightly. “Don’t say it like that. I hate that.”

“Being an ex?”

“Being any kind of Mrs. I’m twenty-five years old – just think of me as Cheryl, okay? Or even Sylvana. Mrs. is like someone old.” She breathed deeply, and her breasts budged reluctantly.

“Cheryl it is.” I finished my coffee, went in for a refill, and bought another bagel. “Here you go – more nutrition.”

“No way,” she said, showing me a palm. “A few bites of that and I’ll bloat up and have to be rolled home.” But after another sip of coffee, she began taking tiny chipmunk nibbles, and within moments she’d gnawed off the top of the bagel.

“Look,” she said, “I shouldn’t even be talking about this – Anita, Kent, Tony. We’ve been divorced for a year, if you need to know. But, what the hey, no one can tell me what to do, right?”

“Right.”